


Ready. Aim. Fire.

by Tori_Scribbles (orphan_account)



Series: Training Natasha [4]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Archery, Black Widow - Freeform, Hawkeye - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Torture, Post: Red Room, Pre: Avengers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-19 02:35:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3593154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Tori_Scribbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha can shoot every weapon known... Except one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ready. Aim. Fire.

**Author's Note:**

> This came from a prompt submitted to my Tumblr.  
> "Clint teaching Natasha archery," Submitted by Anonymous.
> 
> It's not very long but here it is.
> 
> I don't have a beta, all mistakes are my own if you notice anything let me know so I can change it!

“Why do I need to learn Archery?” Natasha asked, standing where Clint had directed her, facing him.

“You don’t _need_ to do anything,” Clint reminded her. “But it’ll be fun and I need to find something you’re not good at,”

He strapped a bracer onto her left forearm, pressing a simple black recurve bow into her hand, rearranging her fingers, making her relax her wrist slightly.

He pulled an arrow from the standing quiver, threading it through the bow, nocking it on the string.

“Then put your fingers like this, one above, two below, yeah. Move your feet apart slightly,” He instructed, nudging her feet shoulder width apart with his toe. “Then slowly bring it up, drawing the string back to your chin,” Natasha complied, her fingers brushing her lip slightly. “Elbow down,” He said, pressing her elbow down slightly. “Ready… Aim… Fire,”

Natasha held for a second, trying to aim strange weight in her hands. After a minute, she let go of the string, lowering the bow and scowling at the arrow that went past the target.

Clint handed her another arrow watching her draw back again.

“Hold the position after you let the string go,” He advised, pressing her elbow down again slightly. Natasha let go, keeping her hand in place this time. This time the arrow landed on the edge of the circular target. Biting her lip she grabbed another arrow going again.

“Erg,” She groaned hitting the outer ring again.

Clint hid a smirk, stepping behind her as she drew back again, he moved her arm over slightly, lowering the bow an inch.

Natasha released the arrow again this time it hit dead in the centre.

“How old were you when you learnt to shoot?” She asked, slapping his hands away and shooting again.

“Seven. Practiced for hours every day,” He told her, watching as she hit the red.

“It’s one of the few weapons I was never trained with,” Natasha said, focussing on the target. “We weren’t allowed bows. I guess they were too old fashioned for Russia. Knives and guns were their thing,” She said bitterly, releasing the arrow, this time landing on the edge of the gold.

Once the quiver was empty, she surprised him, collecting all her arrows and starting again.

Every time she drew back Natasha focussed on the target alone, forgetting where she was and everything was suddenly irrelevant. It was nice, unlike firing a gun, there was no startling sound, no jerk on her wrist. It was smooth motions and a satisfying thud.

“Hit,” “Miss,” With every arrow she breathed a word under her breath. Too low for Clint’s hearing aids to pick up, but when standing in front of her, he could read the motions on her lips.

“You don’t need to do that,” He said. Watching her clench her jaw every time she missed.

“Yes I do,” She replied sharply.

“No, you don’t need to beat yourself up over missing,” He told her.

“Whatever you say, Barton,” She muttered firing again. “Hit,” She muttered.

The gym door opened with a hum and Coulson walked in, watching the two spies bicker, they both glance over at him, letting him know, they know he’s there before carrying on.

“So, trading in the pistols for a bow, Natasha?” He asks.

“In Barton’s Dreams,” Natasha scoffed, glancing back at him.

“Wouldn’t you love to know about my dreams,” He taunted, leaning closer to her.

“Erg, as if,” She scoffed pushing him back slightly.

“A new mission has just come in,” Coulson said holding out a file.

Natasha tossed the bow to Clint who caught it and destrung it easily as she walked over taking the file.

**STRIKE TEAM – DELTA**

**AGENT BARTON. AGENT ROMANOFF.**

**HANDLER: AGENT COULSON.**

**LEVEL 7**

**PARIS, FRANCE.**

“This looks easy enough. Two targets. No extraction,” She said, scanning through the file.

Coulson nodded. “Your flight leaves in 3 hours. Suit up,”

**Author's Note:**

> I can't actually find anywhere that states Clint's age when he first learnt to shoot. So I just went with seven. If it's wrong let me know please!


End file.
